Page 41 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Twelve

The door to Bishop Berwick's study opened and a black-clad footman stepped inside. Irritation broke the bishop's concentration for he had been lost in thought.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," the footman apologized with a bow, no doubt assuming that he had been deep in prayer.

"What is it?" he growled. He picked up his quill, dipped it in ink, then signed the missive he'd penned to the Church council.

The footman flinched at his tone. "A man to see you, Your Grace."

"It is not yet fully morning." He scowled at the interruption.

The footman backed away until he stood framed by the door. "He said you'd know who he was, Your Grace."

"Send him in," the bishop ordered, knowing exactly who had called at such an inappropriate hour.

Impatiently he threw his nib aside. After folding the sheet of linen, he took out his wax and warmed a small chunk until it turned a liquid red. He quickly poured it on the loose edge of the paper, then stamped it with his insignia ring. The mark of his station, and his mother's pride and joy.

He frowned at the thought of his mother. She showed no signs of her health improving. The spots on her chest had spread to her entire body. Her temper had turned sharp, and she spent most of the day rambling at him about how he needed to do something special to catch the Church council's attention.

He'd written to the council and asked them to come to their humble home to witness a miracle. His mother's miraculous healing would be a great enough triumph for them. But to perform any sort of miracle, he would need the Charm Stone.

He pushed the missive toward the corner of his desk. His clerk would see to its delivery. If the council members accepted his invitation, they would arrive in little under a week. That left little time to secure the Stone. He'd have to hasten his plans.

The bishop rose and moved across the room to stare out the window through the haze of dawn at the snowcapped mountains of the Highlands in the distance. A leaden gray sky hovered over the mountains while blacker clouds rolled in from the north. A storm was coming — several storms, in fact, if he were truly honest with himself. The weather would unleash itself with a vengeance, as would his mother if he wasn't selected to fill the vacant position of archbishop within the month.

This brought him to the storm brewing between himself and Camden Lockhart. The man was doing everything in his power to protect his family. No matter. Lady Violet and the Charm Stone would be the bishop's to command, giving him everything he had ever wanted.

A sound came from the doorway, and the bishop turned. The man he'd expected slipped inside the chamber: this time he offered no bow over the bishop's ring. He merely sat uninvited in the chair across from the large mahogany desk.

"I've news, Your Grace," the man announced, placing his muddy and wet boots atop the spotless wood.

"Do tell." The bishop narrowed his gaze on the filthy boots defiling his property.

The man brought his feet to the floor. "Last night a woman and her babe survived an impossible birth."

The bishop sighed deeply. "That's your news?"

The man smiled as he met the bishop's dark gaze. "Lord Lockhart and the Ruthven woman were both there. The baby came first by the feet, but the woman turned it around. The mum and babe survived. 'Twas a miracle to be sure."

The bishop gazed coolly at the man, disgusted. "They must have used the Charm Stone. I need that relic, you idiot. Someone must have witnessed something. When you have something more, you may return to me. Until then, be like the shadows."

The man's face darkened with a frown. "I've done everything ye asked me tae do, Your Grace."

Bishop Berwick moved to his desk. "Your son's life is at stake if you do not cooperate."

"Please don't hurt him," the man pleaded.

"Then do exactly as I ask."

The man nodded. "I'll not let ye down."

"See that you don't."

The man departed, closing the door softly behind him. No sooner had the door stilled when another knock sounded.

"Enter," the bishop growled.

His footman appeared to be quaking in his shoes as he stepped once again into the chamber. "Another caller, Your Grace. This one says he's—"